As The World Goes On Its Wicked Way
by SofterSoftest
Summary: A repetition, of sorts. (a small glimpse into the lives of V and O after I Will Love You As)
1. Chapter 1

Violet is aware of the visitor before his car door shuts.

She is up in her inventing room, looking through a crate full of old mattress springs, and brainstorming. Olaf, sensing she had needed some peace and quiet, had taken the neophytes to the very back of their property, intent on teaching the children how to identify poisonous plants. She could picture them perfectly, wearing trails into the dirt, Laszlo grasping for Olaf's hand, the man saying, " _Orphans, never drink tea from the Hemlock Tearoom and Stationary Shop. For obvious reasons. This is hemlock, right here…Don't touch it, Sassy!"_

They have barely been gone fifteen minutes when the man arrives. His car is long, black, and quiet, and Violet immediately knows he is involved with VFD. It is the kind of car that could be used as a getaway ride, black smoke billowing high behind it with no trail to lead back to the driver. It could have also been used for kidnapping children in the night and forcing them into an organization. Violet knows this, yet she had no clue which she would prefer.

A volunteer and a villain, she had learned, could very often make the same mistakes.

Violet knows their house is nearly impenetrable- they had made sure of it. When Olaf had rebuilt their heartless home, he had the windows replaced with glass neither bullets nor poison darts could pierce. She had created special locks guarding every door, every chimney, and even the ventilation system was fixed with new filters that would buy them time incase of any stray Medusoid Mycelium. Jars of horseradish were even placed strategically throughout every room- hidden behind books with titles like _Surviving Subterfuge_ or _Lessons In Avoiding Entropy_.

There is no way anyone could intrude unless Violet or Olaf invited them inside. This fact keeps her calm as she rises to her feet, spine straightening. The strange man has not been there one minute and Violet Baudelaire is prepared for a fight.

A few chimes from their doorbell echo through the heartless home, low and fast, and suddenly she is reminded of the Hotel Denouement's famous clock shouting, " _Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!"_

She shakes the memory and hurries to grab a small remote from her cluttered desk. She points it to a blurry monitor, which glitches into wakefulness. She sees a tall man, his light hair wild with flips. He wears a dark leather jacket and deep black sunglasses, despite the cloudy October day. He leans in close and peers directly into the peephole as if he knows she has replaced it with a camera.

In a voice deeper than she had expected he says, "Hello, young lady. Have you been good to your mother?"

They had prepared for this. Although they have no reason to believe this stranger dangerous, Violet knew it was better to treat him as a villain than a volunteer. And that meant summoning her husband.

With calm integrity, she descends from her inventing room, feet tapping an even beat down the worn staircase. Instead of heading to the front door, she goes to the kitchen and, from an unassuming drawer, grabs a green bead no smaller than a button. She rolls it between her fingers, feeling the thin wax film, and tosses it into the kitchen fireplace. Channeling her nerves into force, Violet stamps quick and hard on the bead. A hiss like a gas leak fills the home.

Smoke as green as the floor from the last headquarters funnels straight up through the chimney. Violet grabs a small handle from the mouth of the fireplace and tugs down so a thin glass door slides to the floor, keeping the smoke going up and out.

It takes her husband about three minutes. What seems like an eternity later, she stands at the back door watching green smoke bleed like ichor to the cloudy sky before a long figure emerges from the forest, running like a man possessed with near-loss, to the back of their home. As he gets closer, she can see Olaf's dark eyes blown wide and wild with fear. She wrenches open the back door and he slides inside, legs turned strong and steady with adrenaline.

Before he can ask, Violet says, "We have a visitor."

Before she can ask, Olaf says, "The neophytes are safe."

With that, they turn in synch to the front door. Olaf glances through the two-way mirror shaped like an eye detailing of the front door and a growl leaves him. He heaves it open and the man with the sunglasses smiles. Again he repeats the phrase, "Hello, young lady. Have you been good to your mother?"

"The question is," Olaf says, his voice a warning. "Has she been good to me?"

Without waiting for an invitation, the man nods and steps inside. He looks around the home as if searching for something and only once Olaf closes the door does he turn to address them.

"Violet, Count Olaf. My name is Dashiell Qwerty, and I'm here to check on the neophytes. But, first thing's first- Do you have a library?"

Later, much later, Violet will trace their lives back to that moment, wondering if her intuition had been worth acknowledging- if, even then, she had been able to smell the oncoming doom like so much smoke in the air.

 **Both Dashiell Qwerty and The Hemlock Tearoom and Stationary Shop are mentioned in Mr. Snicket's** ** _Who Could That Be At This Hour?_**

 **The chapters within this story won't line up in a 1-2-3 plot, I plan on each chapter offering a new scene of a different time within the heartless home.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me this long- I hope you enjoy the little sequel.**

 **Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Take your aim, V."

Against the wind, she adjusts the gun in her grip which feels foreign and faulty against the wind. Gooseflesh sprouts up Violet's arms beneath the sleeves of her black jacket. Wind whips at the long gray ribbon tying back her hair.

"My aim's never been perfect." She admits, and the cold night breeze almost whisks away her voice. "But it'll be even worse with you distracting me."

Olaf groans in annoyance behind her, taking one last moment to squeeze her shoulders beneath his hands and press the front of his body to her back before stepping away. Cold air hits her hard from where he had blocked it.

"I can't help it." Olaf says, and Violet can hear the frustration in his voice, can feel his eyes crawling up the back of her. "You look delectable standing before all these city lights. Rather _romantic_ , don't you think, Violet?"

After its sudden destruction, the Rhetoric Building had been reconstructed as the tallest building in the city, much to the mixed feelings of one Lemony Snicket. He had lent her his key for this very night to test a new invention. Eager to rebuild their rapport within the organization, Violet had taken to creating inventions for VFD and taking them before a crowd of judges to accept into the curriculum or reject. So far, every invention had been accepted and she had been paid enough for every re-creation that her inventing room had grown cramped with materials and ideas.

So far she had invented a lighter that could burn different colors of smoke depending on emergency or amusing birthday guests. She had built a pin the shape of an eye that could record footage up to half an hour long, for documenting successful missions or hands-free collection of keepsake memories. The latest invention she had shared was a single match that could curl and loop to be worn like a ring, in the event that someone needed to cause a distraction or light a relaxing candle in a pinch.

What mattered, now, was her newest invention.

One more success and she would become employed as a full-time inventor for VFD.

"You're ridiculous." Violet mutters, but shifts her stance anyway. "A rooftop exploration, some twinkling city lights, and it's making you mushy. Identity check, please. Are you, in reality, Count Olaf?"

"You're stalling, Violet." Olaf says, and she feels suddenly like a child being reprimanded by an instructor. She resists the urge to snap at him, knowing he's right. "They'll be here soon if you've tracked them right. Now get ready."

She sighs long and low to calm her heart rate, and watches as Olaf crouches into the shadows atop the roof, attempting to blend in as much as possible. Nighttime has softened his figure around the edges. Violet is sure that if he tried, her husband could blend into the pitch black sky as easily as any crow or mobile hot air balloon home.

She checks the thin watch at her wrist, spun crooked to rest just atop her pulse point, and crouches to her knees, slinging the gun over the lip of the rooftop and bracing her shoulders.

It take a minute, maybe two, and then the night sky is flooded with hundreds of twittering little bodies, swooping like skybound schools of fish right past her. Their wings and the shine of their eyes reflect against the moon long enough that Violet can only guess where an individual might be.

Hoping for the best, she takes aim, pushes in a small button, and, hearing the whine of the tracker, pulls the trigger. The gun jerks, smacking dull against her shoulder, her boots scuffing against the rooftop. A long wire shoots from the barrel and whizzes through the night. A sharp snap cracks and echoes back against the building, then the sound of reeling. She feels the long wire stiffen and braces the gun in her arms as it retracts and, slowly, a small cage comes into view, cradling a small, bewildered bat.

"I've caught one-" She calls, and Olaf is at her side before she has time to set the gun against the rooftop. He clicks a flashlight and the night lights up, harsh and blue. She sets the cage softly atop her bag. The bat is calm, staring with eyes as dark as Olaf's, as if it had expected to be plucked from the sky.

"Here you go," Violet says, voice tender. The sound of a plastic bag splitting open causes the little bat to twitter. She flips a door at the top of the cage and drops a cube of watermelon inside, which is immediately attacked by the little thing.

"Do you see-?" Olaf starts, but Violet cuts him off, harsh with excitement.

"There!" She says, voice wobbly with relief. She points to a tiny red band at the bat's left ankle. It is marked with an eye, a small replica of the one her husband and countless other associates share.

"You've done it, Countess. You've made a way to track our bats." Olaf's voice is breathy with relief, almost as if he hadn't dared to hope. It had taken months of working with VFD's baticeers, tracking their colonies of bats, and learning their patterns. It was startlingly easy for a baticeer to lose bats once they were let loose if they hadn't been trained enough, and enemies intercepting bats had become such a problem, they were rarely used anymore.

This way, they could be tracked and returned to their baticeers.

This way, VFD could safely communicate.

"It works. It tracked the tag and caught it like it was supposed to." She says, voice high with delight. "We'll have to test it a few more times, but… it works."

"How do you feel, Countess?" Olaf asks, delighting in the happy flush of her cheeks when she says, "Happier than a pig eating bacon!"

The flash of a camera lights up the scene over the flashlight's glare. The little bat eats its watermelon contentedly as Violet aims the band for the camera. They collect photographs to present before the panel of judges, tucking them away safely against the night. The little bat is set free, swooping back, chattering, into the black sky. The couple lets the night burn low, taking turns handling Violet's newest invention, keeping score of how many bats they catch, their proud laughter echoing over the city.

 **I've always loved the idea of Violet growing up to invent for VFD, but had never explored it. Maybe I'll go into greater detail at a later date, but for now, this is her career just beginning.**

 **The Rhetoric Building is mentioned in only in** ** _The Beatrice Letters_** **as Lemony Snicket's office.**

 **Like I said before, the chapters won't necessarily line up perfectly, but no need for panic- Dashiell Qwerty has not vanished and I will not ignore him.**

 **Side note, it's fun to be able to type "_-er than a pig eating bacon!" again.**

 **Please let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

On bad nights, Violet still dreams of the burning Hotel Denouement.

Emerald smoke fogs the long halls and clogs her lungs. Panic leaves her stumbling, leaves her slipping on shattered glass and charred green floorboards. Concierge bells clang, reminiscent of the hotel's clock, the deep sound of them echoing, " _Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!"_ as she runs down the hall towards the exit staircase. Although she cannot explain it, she is heavy with the awareness that she will not survive.

Beneath her, the tilted hotel tilts further. She tries to run to the stairwell, but the hall keeps stretching. She is so close to salvation but never quite saved.

Beneath every door, various volunteers and villains are shoving things into the hall and shouting at her. Violin strings, oceanic maps, and spilled cups of star anise tea bleed from beneath the doors, tripping her. Voices rise from behind them, loud and desperate.

" _I submit these marriage licenses!"_

" _I submit these psychology books!"_

" _I submit these theatrical programs!"_

In her nightmare, Violet reaches the stairwell, smoke pouring from its seams, and wrenches open the door only to find the empty throat of an elevator shaft. She can feel the flames searing her- the backs of her legs, the avoidant curl of her spine- and decides she must jump.

Even trapped in her mind, Violet Baudelaire is brave.

She lifts one foot, feeling the melted rubber soles stick to the hotel floor, and leaps-

As always, the noises stop. The fires hiss out, the trapped voices behind the doors quiet. She curls, fetal, like a child dropping into a deep, green lake.

And then her husband speaks.

" _I submit this matchbook as proof that the Baudelaire mansion burned at my hand!"_

In the last moments before she drops, Violet turns to see Count Olaf, his clothes immaculate, not touched by one flake of soot, standing right behind her. He is backlit by the flames, causing the wild toothiness of his grin to catch the light and hide the rest in shadow. He is as evil as the day they first met.

Betrayal and horror make Violet sick to the backs of her teeth- and then she sinks into the elevator shaft as fast and messy as a carnival caravan sliding backwards down an icy slope. Darkness swallows her whole.

When she wakes, it is slow and still. She makes no hurried movement to sit up, no breathless gasp, no frantic search of their bedroom for invaders. Violet merely turns to look at the sleeping form of her husband, guilt and apprehension making her wonder at the evil in him.

In the quiet aftermath, she closes her eyes and tries to envision the layout of their heartless home, lingering on the bedrooms of the neophytes. She wonders at the dreams of the children- Are the stakes higher in the dreams of VFD's next generation? Are they heavy with smoke, the same as hers?- and finally falls asleep.

On bad nights, Violet dreams of the burning Hotel Denouement.

But on the good nights, like every fire no matter how noble or evil, the smoke clears, the flames burn out, and the world goes on its wicked way.

 **I'm not sure if I've ever said this, but I don't like avoiding Olaf's villainy. It's such a necessary part of him that ignoring it or getting rid of it completely just feels too wrong. So, here we are.**

 **Also, I've just learned that my family's shared Netflix account was canceled. Hopefully we get it back or I'll just consider it a birthday present to myself. Because I'm not missing the premier when it's on my birthday!**

 **I hope that, so far, this little sequel is living up to expectation.**

 **Please let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

He finds her in the inventing room, not inventing.

Instead of seeing Violet Baudelaire with her hair tied back, up to her elbows in too-large gloves, her dark eyes obscured in goggles, he finds her standing tip-toed and prim before a mirror. The mirror itself is tall and faded brown with age like an old photograph. She has it at an angle leaning heavily against the wall. It is cluttered by old rope and scraps of paper cluttered with her scribbles.

"Countess?" Olaf calls, voice gentle.

Violet flinches, spooked. Her hands pull away from where she had been worrying the hem of her dress. The Count steps into the large inventing room, weaving through canvas tarps and blueprints longer than him.

"I'm ready!" She calls, embarrassed that she had been caught dawdling.

"Where-" Olaf says, unsurprised that he cannot keep the wonder from his voice. "Did you get that dress?"

Violet turns to grin at him, faint pink blooming atop her cheeks. She takes the white lace hem of her dress and tugs it out so he can see. It is similar in style to the first dress he ever bought her- maroon, long-sleeved, with wide lace bordering the hem and adorning a thin peter-pan collar.

"Your mother sent it to me, actually. Our first wedding anniversary isn't far away." She says, stepping away from the mirror to join him in the center of the room.

Olaf hums, eyes narrowed. He seems calculative and hesitant.

"It must be. Sali wouldn't send a gift otherwise." He says, and Violet laughs knowingly, as if they share some grand inside joke. She grabs at the collar of his white button-up shirt and smiles, all kind dark eyes and a recent softness to her face.

"You look handsome. Are the kids ready?" Violet says, then frowns to herself. "That sounded odd. Are the _neophytes_ ready?"

Count Olaf grins wolfishly, leaning down, tucking an arm beneath her knees, and hoisting her into his arms before she can protest.

"The kids, hmmm? Not quite ready to mother some brats, are you, dear thing?"

Violet sputters as if the very idea has her whole body alive with distaste.

"No way. No. _No_. I enjoy housing the neophytes but…" She shudders again, her brown eyes finding his in serious refusal. He meets them easily as he spins towards the doorway and stomps down the long staircase. "No way."

"I understand, orphan. I was merely teasing." Olaf says, but something in his voice sounds suspicious and bright enough for her to say, "Oh? Not ready to be a father yet?"

The idea has Olaf closing his eyes in absolute disgust. "You know how I feel about children, V. Must I recite _This Be The Verse_ yet again? I hate children more than I ever hated Lemony Snicket. And that matters."

"Except for Laszlo. You love him." Violet teases, causing Olaf to look away, muttering, "That kid? He can barely survive without a flashlight why would I ever-"

"Countie!" calls a small feminine voice they both immediately recognize as Julie Feint. "The taxi's here!"

Olaf's eyes dart away from his wife's knowingly as she snickers " _Countie_ , huh?"

He calls down the long stairwell, "Then get your other orphans and go! We'll be there soon!" They tumble faster down the first staircase, turning down the next one. They hear the front door slam and the giggle of four children running across the yard.

"Speaking of taxi," Violet says as Olaf places her gently to her feet in the front room. "Is a certain author-friend of ours the driver for tonight?"

Olaf smiles, withdrawing six movie theatre tickets from his trouser pocket.

"Let's go find out, shall we?"

They head into the yard only to find their author friend on the ground being tackled by four rowdy children, Seth having stolen Lemony's bowl-shaped hat. They were all giggling, round and loud with no need for quiet. Lisa was trying to squirm her hands into the man's pockets, checking for her family's horseradish. Julie was working on tying the man's shoes together in a knot as intricate as the Devil's Tongue. Laszlo was waving his flashlight around, snickering mischievously, trying to disorient the fallen, giggling author.

"Children-" Lemony calls through a mouthful of laughter, "Children, please, you do not want to miss this theatrical marvel!"

"We're going to the theatre?" Julie gasps, blonde head swinging wildly to look to Violet and Olaf, who wore identical expressions of smug secrecy.

"Get into the taxi and you'll find out." Violet says in a tone that might have meant anything.

Soon, the small gang was loaded into Lemony's rickety taxi, speeding through the city. The children swoon over the bright lights and Fall decorations, while Lemony and Olaf exchange whispers, glancing from one neophyte to the other. Eventually they arrive at a large, flashy theatre. It displays the featured movie in large lit-up type-

"Zombies in the Snow?" Seth asks, the large neon halving his profile in red. "I think I've heard of that before…"

Lemony parks the taxi at the curb, and before the kids can clamber out, Olaf turns to address them, slow and serious. The kids immediately still in attention.

"Orphans," Olaf says, the only other sound the purr of the taxi. "The film you are about to see is one that was vital to the history of our organization. Keep that in mind as we proceed."

The children all nod, their high energy delight suddenly warping into something wired and dangerous. They line up quietly, single-file, and march like stony-faced soldiers into the theatre.

The neophytes are ready for anything.

Lemony leads the children into the theatre, leaving the couple the keys for the taxi. Olaf steps into the night, opening the door for Violet, and leads them to sit atop the trunk. They sit in silence for a few moments watching the cars go by and admiring the steep city and every light in every window.

Sensing Olaf's hesitance, Violet breaks the silence. "Olaf, I know what this movie is. Do you remember when we first moved in with Loid and Sali and we had our bet? And you told me about that little book that could only be read with Medusoid Mycelium?"

He turns to stare at her, brows furrowed as if offended. His thin mouth is pinched in anger and, unlike when they had first made that bet, Count Olaf's anger no longer frightens her.

"Violet-" He says, voice tight. The theatre lights brought out the long corded muscles of his neck, highlighted in red. "Tell me you didn't-"

"Of course I did." She says lightly, as if he was foolish for thinking she wouldn't. "It was Sebald Code. A certain author-friend of ours taught it to me the very first time we met. Once I'd found your book and knew the code, why wouldn't I have?"

Speechless, the Count places his head in his hands, brooding like a fussy child. He runs his hands through his hair, messing up the dark waves.

"I know it was a code warning Uncle Monty about your…" Violet pauses, unsure. "Intentions."

Olaf raises his head and watches her steadily, as if he is dealing with a lion not yet tame. The look in his eyes is distant. Violet knows it is a veiled facial disguise, yet she cannot help but feel alone when her husband looks at her as though he's seeing a stranger.

Sitting atop the trunk of a taxicab before a grand theatre in the middle of a moonlit city street, the loose shoulders, and the crooked skew of his long legs make the Count look cool and unfazed. For a moment, Violet's memory snags on her latest dream and the look of Olaf behind her, smirking like a villain.

"So now that you know," He says, voice as still as an actor's. "How do you feel?"

Violet shrugs. When he doesn't look at her, she bumps their shoulders together, hard enough that the Count has to break his pose to catch himself.

"Don't treat me like some stranger, Olaf. Look at me." Violet says, voice tight with annoyance.

The man rolls his eyes before sitting straighter, folding his arms, and finally meeting her eyes without the distant stare. He still looks calm, yet there was a softness to his face that had been absent.

After a few moments of silence, Olaf waves his hand at her like a stage director cuing his lead for a line.

"We've just been through this. We've gotten over it. I don't think there's much use in further reflection. You-" Violet sighs deeply and closes her eyes for the briefest moment. "You killed him. And we've dealt with it. So don't-" She reaches for his hand then, sure that if she had grabbed for it any sooner, he would have shaken her off. Instead, the man seems to sag at her touch as if a fine wire of tension had finally snapped. "Don't _grieve_ about it anymore. Let's enjoy the film and watch our neophytes. Okay?"

Olaf had reconstructed his veiled facial disguise, yet his fingers held hers like a vice, his thumb rubbing at the flat face of her wedding ring. He nodded once before hopping off the trunk and hoisting her from the vehicle to the ground. Once Violet was flat on her feet, Olaf kissed her forehead softly, as if afraid to touch her.

"Alright, orphan." He says, his voice quiet and gruff in the hum of the city. "Let's see a movie."

Later, the children return to the taxi with their brows furrowed in concentration, eyeing their notebooks. They each have similar scribbles, crossing out words or circling others. Their whispers crowd the backseat as they swap words like secrets..

It doesn't take long before Seth, bright eyed with pride, says, "I have it! The code! It- it says, uh-"

A whine of defeat from the three other neophytes and the slap of their hands against their notebooks drown him out for a moment. The adults stay silent, listening. Lemony and Violet meet eyes for a moment, heavy with anticipation.

"Oh, Sassy." The author says, his voice quiet and weary.

" _Attention!_ " Seth recites, and although it is not directed to anyone in particular, the entire vehicle quiets. " _Hidden in the snowman is a survivor of the fire. Meet us in the town where this film takes place. Bring the three children. Your new assistant is not one of us. Beware!_ "

"Good job, little neophyte." Lemony says, although his voice still sounds very sad, as though he has already lost something dear to him. Behind him, Seth grins revealing small gaps where he has lost his milk teeth. "With a mind like that, you'll no doubt be a very valuable asset to our organization."

And although the compliment makes the young boy laugh with relief and delight, Lemony, Violet, and Olaf sit still in the taxi, feeling like mourners at a freshly dug grave.

 ** _This Be The Verse_** **is by Philip Larkin and is mentioned by our dearest Count Olaf in** ** _The End_** **.**

 ** _Zombies in the Snow_** **is first seen in** ** _The Reptile Room,_** **then later in** ** _The Unauthorized Autobiography_** **in a letter Sally Sebald wrote to one Lemony Snicket.**

 **A few of you have asked if there will be any sexy scenes in this fic and, again, I don't feel as if the** ** _I Will Love You As_** **universe I've created is one where it would fit. However, I do have an AU fic planned that will have plenty of smut. So, there's that.**

 **I hope everyone had a wonderful time last night! Happy New Year- from me, to you.**

 **Please let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

The author teaches them how to die, figuratively.

" _A boat beneath a sunny sky_

 _Lingering onward dreamily-"_

Lemony Snicket's voice warps loud and low across the foggy backyard. He sits bent-kneed atop the amphitheater looking down like a king to the small audience of neophytes sitting below him on the dewy grass.

" _In an evening of July-"_

"But-" a small voice breaks the poem. Seth peers up at the author, Laszlo in his lap as he sits between Julie and Lisa. "It's October, Mr. Snicket. Why would you read us a poem about summer?"

"Because, Sassy." He snips. "This poem is about the death of those summers. Of childhood and innocence lost. May I continue?"

The children nod. They seem quelled and confused by the sudden seriousness of their author friend. It seems the fog had affected his mood, flipping it ominous and aware of some lingering doom greater than they could ever realize.

" _Children three that nestle near,_

 _Eager eye and willing ear,_

 _Pleased a simple tale to hear-"_

At this, the children perk as if he had called their names. Lemony doesn't bother looking at them. His dark eyes are still and heavy, gone staring into the forest.

' _Long has paled that sunny sky:_

 _Echoes fade and memories die:_

 _Autumn frosts have slain July._

 _Still she haunts me, phantomwise,_

 _Alice moving under skies_

 _Never seen by waking eyes._

 _Children yet, the tale to hear,_

 _Eager eye and willing ear,_

 _Lovingly shall nestle near."_

Again in response to children, the three neophytes shift ever closer to one another. Lemony shifts, his posture uncharacteristically huddled. He had folded his legs beneath him and rested his head in his hand, eyes very vacant and motionless.

Hanging like smoke around the man is an air of loss and, deeper, vulnerability, as if he has lost his childhood in some way he can never speak.

" _In a Wonderland they lie,_

 _Dreaming as the days go by,_

 _Dreaming as the summers die:_

 _Ever drifting down the stream —_

 _Lingering in the golden gleam —_

 _Life, what is it but a dream?"_

Lemony finishes the poem and does not rise to bow as if a wonderfully talented actor, does not immediately smile and begin another. He does not repeat an often-repeated lesson, " _Everyone should be able to do one card trick, tell two jokes, and recite three poems, in case they are ever trapped in an elevator."_

Laszlo glances anxiously at his fellow neophytes, unsure how to rouse the author. Silence splits the air between them. They sit on the damp grass and watch Lemony Snicket think.

"Children," He says finally. His voice is as contrite as ever, but carries unfamiliar seriousness. "There will be a time when you must realize that responsibility is unavoidable. If things are set in motion, sometimes you cannot step away. You must be present and active and-" The author pauses, searching for words, which is something they have never seen him do. "And you may have to sacrifice the people and volunteers and villains you may have come to care for very deeply, no matter how ignoble it may feel. Hypotheticals, of course children, but- you must become noble and sometimes this means sacrificing even your childhood."

The neophytes realize immediately that he is speaking of their shared organization. Before now they have had no reason to doubt the intrigue of VFD. They sit, suddenly nervous, on the ground and wait for Lemony to offer a rebuttal, to quote another poem about how life can offer wonderful experiences for growth and learning but the author merely sits in quiet, as if he has already accepted the sad fact that childhood is slippery and thin and the hardest of all things to save.

 **To read or recognize that this poem is by Lewis Carroll should not surprise anyone. I'm fairly predictable. For those that do not know, it is called** ** _A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky_** **.**

 **The quote, "** ** _Everyone should be able to do one card trick, tell two jokes, and recite three poems, in case they are ever trapped in an elevator."_** **is from Mr. Snicket's book** ** _Horseradish_** **.**

 **To everyone participating in Daniel Handler's contest for publication in Per Diem Press, I wish you much luck and hope you return it to me! I've already had weird, panicked daydreams about him recognizing my last penname and saying something like, "Ah. So you're the disgrace." Something tells me he would not appreciate the work I've put into fanfiction. Maybe it's best if I don't win...**

 **I hope everyone is enjoying the new Netflix series!**

 **Please let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

Olaf is the first to rise the next morning.

He prefers to sleep in, to allow Violet time in the morning to herself- to fog the bathroom mirrors with steam (to write him notes in the fog with the tip of her finger, _dreamt of you_ ), to fix star anise tea downstairs and sketch whatever contraption she has already imagined.

This morning, however, is different.

For a reason he could never have explained, he smells the unease like a gas leak.

Over the course of his life, Count Olaf has developed a sense for danger. He has always known to sense the seconds before calamities- right before a match took to spark or a ship took to sinking or a burglar took to taking.

In an instant, he is completely awake, right before the sun rises, while the sky still blushes frosty pink.

As Olaf walks slowly towards the neophyte quarters, it becomes apparent to him that he is already too late. One door hangs unlatched, a single bed is empty of child, and every sheet, quilt, and pillow is strewn around the room as if wrecked by miniature tornado.

Sick in a way he had never felt, Olaf breaches the bedroom only to find boot prints as large as his own and the window wide open as if frozen in a scream. Anger burns bright in him as he stands in the center of the room, cursing VFD and every childhood warped by secrecy.

Light footsteps echo down the hall, followed by a small sniffle, and when he turns, he sees the serene face of his wife. Her dark hair is frizzy from sleep, her face pale and still bleary-eyed.

"Hi, Olaf. You're up early." Violet says, but when she sees the look on his face, it startles her awake enough to look around the room. He imagines she has not seen him this angry in a long time, has not seen pure fury warp him into someone he no longer knows.

"The orphan is gone." He says, voice hard with acceptance. "The author's. Seth."

"Oh, Sassy." Violet says. She passes him to shut the window, but sighs once she reaches it. "They've torn up our yard with their tires. Took down a few saplings, too."

"There's nothing we can do." Olaf says, voice harsher than he would prefer when speaking to Violet yet he cannot will his emotions away. "We'll have to figure out what to tell the children. And Snicket."

"I'm sure the neophytes will understand. They must know on some level the-" Violet pauses, searching for an appropriate word. She rubs the heels of her palms into her eyes, already weary, and Olaf wishes he had a hot cup of tea to hand over. "... the sacrifice. The process."

"Of course they know some of it." Olaf concedes, biting his tongue to keep from shouting. He wants to ruin the room even further, to haul the furniture out back to burn like a funeral pyre. "They are told, _a long black car will whisk you away in the night, do not scream_. But they can't grasp sacrificing their entire childhoods. Their whole lives."

Violet turns and fixes him with an appraising gaze. As much as he loves her, he hates to see her wear that expression- soft inquisition, as if she were searching him for faults. He remembers a time long ago, Violet meeting his eyes with that same expression asking, " _Would I have to kiss you on the mouth?"_

Standing in the doorway, he feels like she will ask him some question they have not yet discussed about his past, will finally ask something like, " _So who exactly have you murdered? Do you still feel the desire for arsonry? Do you ever look into a mirror and feel like a stranger in the home of your own body?"_

Instead she asks, "Did you realize what you were doing? When you were whisked away?"

"No." He says, like spitting a tooth. He wants to say more after that. Wants to tell her that as a neophyte he had been seduced by the lure of VFD, of becoming something so much bigger and bolder than himself. The organization had been romanticized when he was young the way espionage and adventure sing like siren song to children with no true idea of danger.

Olaf wants to say he had been lied to and tricked. How sometimes he wonders if other people feel this way about religions or relationships- You are filled with love and hope and then your eyes are opened and you realize nothing was as you thought, and you rot with betrayal and shame.

Violet waits for him to continue but he feels as though there is too much to say. She recognizes this, of course, and crosses the room to run a soothing hand up his back, to press her side into his. Olaf settles his hand in a grip of dark hair at her spine and rubs the knots in her neck as if trying to cure his own.

"I will make breakfast. You will invite Lemony. We will wake the remaining children and see how they take it. And we go from there." Violet says, already trying to save him from the depth of familiar hatred and violence he has fallen into. "And you can burn things in the backyard."

The Count nods. He breaks away from the warmth of his wife to toss the strewn blankets onto the bed with more force than necessary. He asks, voice low, "Should I call Qwerty?"

Violet hums, considering. She remembers the day that man had shown up on their stoop, not long after the neophytes had settled in and picked their rooms and relaxed. She remembers his sunglasses, his deep voice, his stiff walk. And, of course, his warning.

"We don't know where Seth went or how things are going. This induction process sounds… normal to me. So I don't think we'd have much to tell him." She says.

Olaf nods, having thought much the same. They tidy the room in silence. Once the bed is made and the boot prints are scrubbed from the floor, they wander downstairs only to find Lemony Snicket sitting at their kitchen table with a steaming mug of star anise tea and a woeful scowl.

His bowl-shaped hat rests on the table at his elbow. Beneath the surprise and the grief, Violet realizes this is the first time she has seen the man without it and this small fact has something fracturing in her chest.

"They've taken Sassy." Lemony says. He sips his drink loudly and eyes them where they stand. Although he is wearing a suit, he looks as though he is also garbed in weariness like a suit from which he could not undress. "Don't look at me like that, you two. Come have some tea. We can discuss the organization that has stolen him, its effects on childhood development, and confront the discomforting reality of clarity in all its terror."

They sink to their seats, the wounds in them ragged and open like graves awaiting their caskets, and speak.

* * *

 **I think, for once, I didn't allude to anything. Should I feel shame or relief?**

 **For those who wonder, I am very much alive and still writing nearly daily about our beloved couple. I have several different pieces I've been working on and have not yet published for fear of stagnation. Next time I publish something new, I want it to be finished in its entirety before I share it. But still I am very excited to share!**

 **Also, I made a new blog for chatting about this pairing or Snickety things in general. Feel free to interact with me as s-softersoftest on Tumblr. The link will be in my profile.**

 **Thank you, everyone, for your continued support. I appreciate it endlessly.**

 **Let me know what you think!**


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